


Though Your Pillow's Soft and Deep

by primarycolors92



Category: Glee
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Season/Series 01-02 Hiatus, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primarycolors92/pseuds/primarycolors92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Brittany texts him at 6:43 on a Wednesday in July.</i><br/>Kurt and Brittany have an emergency sleepover.  Brittany's sad, Kurt's apprehensive, Burt is deeply uncomfortable.  </p><p>Set over the summer between seasons one and two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though Your Pillow's Soft and Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [el_em_en_oh_pee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/gifts).



> Thanks to the beautiful and perfect el_em_en_oh_pee for pushing, prompting, and guiding. Also to the lovely questceque_cest for feedback and cheerleading. <3

Brittany texts him at 6:43 on a Wednesday in July. 

_santanas mad at me :(_

Kurt frowns down at his phone and very much does not want to get involved. 

_What happened?_

Kurt’s dad frowns at him from across the kitchen table. Kurt tries not to think too hard about the way their faces make the exact same expressions. Down that rabbit hole lies a future of wrinkles and male-pattern baldness and Kurt does not have the strength for prophecy and Santana at the same time. 

_:(_

Kurt can’t hold back a sigh. Burt raises an eyebrow; it’s a move Kurt practices in the mirror three times a week and it is horribly unfair that he has to work for it and his father does not. Also, wrinkles. 

“Dad, can my friend Brittany come over? I think she’s having…” Kurt stumbles over the words _girl problems_ , partially because Santana is less “girl” and more “she-devil” but mostly because explaining Brittany’s sexuality to his father is something Kurt never wants to attempt. “Issues,” is what Kurt settles on, and it’s true enough. 

“Isn’t Brittany the one who…” Burt trails off, now, because again there aren’t really words. 

“Yeah.” Kurt watches his dad weigh the potential dangers of having that girl sleep in his home against his silent joy that Kurt actually has people who want to come over to his house and be his friends. 

“Well, it’s not like you’ve got school tomorrow. No funny business, alright?” Kurt can’t quite squash his face of disgust, but it probably does convey the point better than promises ever could. 

_Wanna come over?_

_:)_

And then, not quite five minutes later:

_wait, where do u live again??_

Kurt doesn’t quite sigh, but he doesn’t smile either. 

 

Brittany rings Kurt’s doorbell at 8:19. Kurt thinks about asking her how many times she got lost, or why she even owns shorts in that particular shade of yellow-green, or why she texted Kurt when they haven’t spoken in almost a month. 

But Brittany’s eyes are red-rimmed and her hair is a disaster and how many people can you talk to about your lesbian problems in Lima, Ohio, really, so instead Kurt just steps aside to let her in. 

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Brittany mutters, eyes downcast and lips trembling. Kurt twists the fabric of his shirt between his fingers and wonders if this is the moment he’s supposed to initiate soothing physical contact. 

Mercedes would be so much better at this. 

Brittany looks up and her entire face brightens. “Hi, Mr. Hummel! Is the burglar alarm working?” Burt opens his mouth and Kurt decides that, yes, it is very much the moment to initiate physical contact. 

“We’re just gonna head down into the basement _right now_ , Dad,” Kurt exhales in a single breath, and he reaches for Brittany’s wrist to drag her towards the stairs. She moves to link their fingers together, which, _oh my god_ , and Kurt looks everywhere in the world that is not his father’s face. 

“Okay, then,” Kurt hears his dad say as the basement door closes between them. 

 

“Do you want to,” _talk_ , Kurt’s brain supplies, “watch a movie or something?” 

“Okay,” Brittany says, looking around the room curiously. “Did you redecorate? Do you have ‘Bring it On’?” Kurt knows his mouth has fallen open in a very unbecoming fashion but he can’t quite bring himself to close it. 

“I went from ‘Antique White’ to ‘Atrium White.’ I repainted last month. Nobody noticed. How did you…” Kurt stops thinking before he’s forced to reevaluate his entire universe. “No, I don’t have ‘Bring it On.’ I’m sorry.” 

Brittany’s face turns mournful. “Santana and I always watch ‘Bring it On’ while we have our sweet lady kisses.” 

This is literally the worst idea Kurt has ever had, and he once tried to seduce a straight boy by turning him into his stepbrother. 

Brittany’s eyes are welling up with tears and her lips are trembling again. Kurt’s been friends-by-association with Quinn through most of her pregnancy and her post-partum _whatever_ , so at this point he really should know what to do when sad blondes look at him with sad, sad blue eyes. Except for some reason watching Brittany cry is giving Kurt “Bambi” flashbacks and sympathy crying is going to do absolutely no one any good whatsoever. 

“Do you want to pick a different movie?” Kurt asks, waving his arm towards the shelf of DVDs in blatant desperation. 

Brittany eyes both the shelf and Kurt himself with unveiled suspicion. “I don’t want to watch ‘Brokeback Mountain,’” she says, with the air of one uncertain if they are committing a grave offense. 

Kurt nods with the greatest sincerity. “That’s completely, totally fine. We can watch whatever you want.” He suspects it would be unwise to inform Brittany that he doesn’t even _own_ “Brokeback Mountain.” 

Brittany runs her fingers along the row of DVDs. “Let’s watch ‘Alien,’” she says, voice darker than Kurt has ever heard it. 

“I… did not even know I had that movie.” Kurt eyes her carefully. “Are you sure?” Brittany nods, pout firmly in place, and Kurt moves to set up the DVD. 

Kurt doesn’t make it thirty minutes before he’s reaching for Brittany’s hand. 

 

By the time the credits roll, Kurt has one hand trapped between Brittany’s and the other tangled in his favorite teal, cashmere blanket. 

He’s seriously considering using Brittany’s presence as an excuse to spend the night sleeping in his dad’s room when he realizes that she’s eyeing the shelf of DVDs with obvious intent and _no_. Just no. Kurt would actually rather talk about Brittany’s relationship with Santana than watch the sequel to this movie, which he _apparently also owns_. 

“Maybe we should talk about Santana now?” Oh god, Kurt is never doing this again. He deserves a friendship gold medal and a new McQueen scarf. 

Brittany looks down at their intertwined hands resting in her lap. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” she says, but her fingers tighten around his and her eyes keep shifting between the floor and the TV. 

“Why don’t you just tell me what happened?” Kurt keeps his voice gentle but he lets his face harden, a bit, because even he knows Brittany better than that. 

“We were watching ‘Sweet Valley High’ and having our sweet lady kisses and then when Santana went to put ‘Bring it On’ in the DVD player I took off my bra and then I told her that we should go see that new movie with that really cute boy who looks just like Finn and then Santana told me to put my bra _back on_.” By the end of her monotone explanation Brittany’s on the verge of tears and digging her perfectly manicured fingernails into Kurt’s impeccably moisturized palm. 

Kurt takes a deep breath. He can learn football terminology and come out to his father and dance in truly fabulous 10-inch heels. He can talk about Brittany and Santana’s sex life without having a complete nervous breakdown. Probably. 

“Brittany, I think it’s generally considered rude to talk about someone _other_ than the person you’re making out with.” 

“You asked me about boys when we were making out.”

“That’s because I’m gay, Britt.” 

“So we can’t make out later?” 

“No.” Kurt pauses, on the off chance that he can stop himself from asking the obvious follow-up question. “Do most of your sleepovers end in making out?”

Brittany shrugs. “Usually they end in scissoring. Santana loves morning sex.” 

Kurt doesn’t slap himself across the face, but that’s only because he bruises easier then those perfect off-season plums he can only find in that one grocery store all the way in Akron. He doesn’t know if this hypothetical friendship medal can be upgraded to platinum, but he is definitely buying himself two McQueen scarves. And possibly new boots. 

Kurt starts running possible solutions through his mind. It’s not so much that he cares about Brittany and Santana’s relationship, really, and more that he never, ever wants to think about it again. 

“Are there any movies that remind you of Santana?” Brittany stares at Kurt like he’s the one spouting inane non sequiturs, which, _no_. “Santana got angry because you wanted to go see a movie that reminded you of Finn. So, if you want to make it up to her…”

“High School Musical,” Brittany says, sounding hopeful for the first time all evening. Kurt raises a single fastidiously groomed eyebrow. “Santana looks like Gabriella, only hotter, and if she and Rachel had ladybabies with Quinn’s hair, they would be Sharpay.” 

“I...” Kurt tries again. “That sounds really nice, Britt.” Brittany gives Kurt’s hand a final squeeze and, with her most brilliant smile, bounds over to the DVD shelf. 

“Oh my god! Let’s watch ‘Ratatouille’!” It’s probably dangerous, but Kurt allows himself to relax for the first time since Brittany arrived on his doorstep. 

 

As the credits on their second, much less stressful film are rolling, Kurt realizes for the first time that Brittany doesn’t have an overnight bag. “Do you want to borrow some pajamas?”

Brittany shrugs. “I usually sleep naked.” She looks very, very carefully at Kurt’s face. “But pajamas are cool too.” 

After a moment of consideration, Kurt goes for an oversize powder blue t-shirt that will perfectly highlight Brittany’s eyes and his least favorite and never-worn pair of boxer shorts. He holds them out to her but waits to let go until she meets his eyes. Kurt draws himself to his full height and, in his most imposing voice, commands, “Do not go commando under these. I mean it.” 

 

Brittany insists on constructing some kind of sleep nest on the floor, using all of Kurt’s admittedly numerous decorative pillows and blankets. She looks up at him expectantly until he leaves the edge of his bed and lies down next to her. He’s unused to people who aren’t Mercedes expecting him to share their physical space. For the first few minutes Kurt’s skin feels too tight, but Brittany thought to ask for her own toothbrush instead of automatically using his and that kind of behavior should be rewarded. They recline in a relatively easy silence until Kurt feels his muscles begin to relax. 

“You should come on my talk show,” Brittany says. The purple of her nails is clashing horribly with the burnt sienna of the throw pillow she’s holding in her lap. She lets Kurt remove it from her clutches without comment, and even hums approvingly when he replaces it with a softer beige. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Britt.” Kurt looks down at his own stomach and imagines his waistline two centimeters thinner. Maybe he’ll try and cut out toast in the morning. 

“Why not? It’ll be totally awesome practice for when you’re famous and you go on Conan.” Kurt weighs the avalanche of _fag_ from the youtube commenters against Brittany’s implied certainty that he’s going to make it big some day. It’s not like Burt spends a lot of time reading the homophobic comments left on youtube videos of teenage girls, as far as Kurt knows. 

“I’ll see what I can fit into my schedule,” Kurt lies, admiring the elegant way his ankles cross atop the gorgeous silk pillow he bought for 30% off. He’s working four days a week at the garage, and his cuticles are a mess, but he’s been sharing his Mercedes time with Quinn for a while now and he hasn’t really filled the gaps with anything he can’t reschedule. Maybe he’ll get Tina to go on the show with him. 

“Okay,” Brittany says. Her head is bobbing in what could be either an agreeable nod or a subtle dance move to music only she can hear. “I’ll have Lord Tubbington’s people call your people.” Kurt isn’t sure if it’s permissible to laugh so he settles on his most regal nod. 

Kurt intends to return to his bed as soon as Brittany falls asleep. 

He doesn’t.


End file.
